The Benefits of Wizard Photography
by TheSmuttyMuse
Summary: Harry is back at the Dursleys for summer. It's hot and he can't sleep. Fortunately, Hermione has sent him a letter and a photo from her vacation that may help him pass the time.
1. Chapter 1

Over the course of five years, Harry had grown very accustomed to cool, Scottish nights. Summer with the Dursleys was already intolerable, but the heatwave passing through Little Whinging made it near unbearable. He had already written off pajamas and even in just a pair of boxers, he was felt like a car overheating. Lying on top of his bed, Harry reached down and slid his underwear down his body, letting them drop off his ankles. It didn't really help. It was still so bloody hot.

There was another problem now as well. Harry was a teenage boy with all the accompanying hormones that brought. As a shy boy, he tended to keep his clothes for as much as possible. He was the boy in the showers who waited for everyone else to leave before rushing in and showering as quickly as possible. This meant being naked, even in the privacy of his own cramped bedroom, was different. It was exciting. He could feel his cock stiffening, pointing up at the ceiling as if to say he definitely needed to have a look up there. Harry sighed. He wasn't going to get to sleep now. Instead, with a certain amount of shame boiling up inside him, he wrapped one hand around his length and used the other to pluck the letter he received today from the bedside cabinet.

It was Hermione, a comforting letter checking that he was okay and reassuring him they'd see each other soon. It was a kind letter, which for now, Harry didn't care about. Instead he turned to the photograph attached to it. Hermione had invested in a wizard camera and had taken it to the south of France on holiday with her. In Harry's mind, it may have been the best decision she had ever made. The photo wasn't inherently naughty. After all, one of her parents had probably taken it. It was of Hermione, laughing, by the water's edge of some French beach. She was wearing a modest, bright blue, two-piece bikini. It hung high on her hips, covering her entire backside, and the top hid all the skin of her breasts, pushing them up to flash cleavage rather than breast. And it drove Harry wild. He had never realized that Hermione had such a perfect, curvy body beneath her robes.

Pumping his cock, Harry felt arousal and shame bubbling away, as he stared at the photograph. He couldn't decide what he found more alluring. When Hermione was laughing at the camera, her face pretty and her breasts bouncing just a little, or when she turned to look out at the sea and her round, rear end was directed at the camera. Even when in jeans, it had somehow escaped Harry's notice how round and curvy his best friend's ass was. Either way, he jerked himself off, biting his lip as he stared back at his friend. He imagined her bikini slipping off, of them together, naked on the beach, doing all sort of things he only had the slightest idea of.

The Hermione in the photo then turned to look at him, eyebrow arched, a smirk on her lips. She put a hand on her hip and stared up at him, shaking her head. Harry's face went bright red. She knew what he was doing! Even though she was just a photo, it was nearly enough for Harry to throw the letter to the floor and cover his nakedness with his bedding. Before he could though, Hermione did something that he wouldn't have imagined in the wildest of his dreams that actual Hermione would ever do. A smirk on her face, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bikini top, letting the fabric drop to the floor. Her breasts bounced free. They were pale, milky white, and clearly did not spend time bare on a French beach. They were small and perky, and to Harry, they were the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

He stared, mouth open, as Hermione squeezed her own breasts for his pleasure, pulling faces of pleasure. Her eyes would close and she'd bite down on her bottom lip. Harry imagined he could hear breathy moans. It was so arousing that he couldn't even remember to stroke his own cock. His brain had fried and the Hermione in the photo clearly enjoyed the effect she was having on him. Her hands dropped down to her bottoms, untying the string as she turned on the spot, letting them join her top on the beach. Staring hungrily at the photo, Harry tried to get over the fact he was staring at Hermione Granger's thick, round ass. It was perfect, two firm globes. His hand started gliding up and down his shaft again.

Jerking himself off, Harry watched in awe as Hermione wiggled her backside for his viewing pleasure. She squeezed it and spanked it, and Harry groaned. He couldn't take this teasing for long. Hermione was watching him over her shoulder, which if anything made the scene more alluring, her hands groping her own backside. Then she bent over, reaching back to spread the soft cheeks of her glorious ass, and Harry could see all of her: her trimmed public hair, her netherlips and the tight, puckered entrance to her tightest hole. It was too much. He came with a groin, his seed splashing over his hand and stomach. He was too turned on to care about the mess.

Five minutes later, a messy pair of boxers in his washing basket, Harry was fast asleep on his bed. The heat had been forgotten about. He snored gently and dreamed of naughty things involving a bushy-haired witch and an empty French beach. The photo of Hermione and her letter laid on his bedside cabinet. She was laughing again, looking at the camera and then the sea as she had done before when Harry first received her letter. The only difference now was that she was naked, her bikini on the sandy beach.


	2. Chapter 2

If Surrey was in the middle of a heat wave, the mercury inching ever higher up the thermometer, then the south of France was a sweltering haven of disgruntled locals and somewhat pink tourists. Everyone had returned home to homes and campsites by now though, left to spend sleepless nights in the oppressive heat. The villa that the Grangers had rented, as they rented every other summer, was right down by the coast, a secluded, sprawling home hidden by greenery. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had already retreated to their side of the villa, leaving Hermione alone in her large bedroom, only a reading lamp and a moonlight offering any illumination.

She was, as most people probably were right now, completely naked. Unlike Harry, shy and withdrawn, Hermione had long since grown comfortable in her own skin. Ever since the celebrity seeker Krum had found her attractive, she took great pride in her developing, curvy body. Only after a week of French sun, her skin was already going a light shade of brown, though the tan lines were unescapable. Hermione had been open to the idea of tanning au naturel, but her parents had put their foot down and so the modest bikini stayed on.

She lounged on her bed, the curtains and windows open, trying to find a night breeze. On her stomach, the moonlight danced across her pale bottom and everyone would have been surprised to learn that the reserved, intelligent Miss Granger was somewhat excited at the idea that someone could look into her window and see her in this state of undress. It wasn't exactly from a sense of naughtiness. Rather, she felt free and liberated, away from her buttoned-up school image and free to explore and display her maturing bodies. Hermione considered it merely just another element of being smart: being aware of the sensual pleasures of life.

Lying on the bed, she reached for a photo underneath her pillow. Most of the time, there was nothing strange about it. It was of a French beach, empty and peaceful. It looked like someone should have been standing in it, and indeed Hermione should have been. However, this photo was charmed to share its subject with another, the one Hermione had sent to Harry that morning. Grinning at the thought, she wished she could have seen Harry's face when he opened the letter and saw the photograph. Her mother had no idea she had taken the picture destined for it to be sent to a boy, but that was Hermione's plan all along.

Over the last few months, every time she sat with her best friend, she experienced butterflies in her stomach. It was terribly awkward to fall in love with Harry, the noble Harry, the dorky Harry, the gorgeous Harry. Hermione wasn't one to beat around the bush though, to pine and wonder if it was to be. She was going to ask Harry the next time she saw him. Either he shared those feelings for her, or he did not, and she could move on. It was a scary thought to imagine that conversation though and so she devised the plan. If Harry truly found her attractive, thought of her as more than a friend, then the photograph she'd sent him would confirm it.

Confirmation came five minutes later in the form of a very pleased and very naked Hermione walking back into the frame of her photo. She almost pranced across the sand and the real Hermione felt a slight blush at the realization of what this meant. Harry had seen her naked.

"So, uh, he wanted to see you like this?" Hermione asked the photo, feeling very stupid to be having a conversation with it. The naked girl nodded. "What did he do?" At this point, the Hermione in the photo proceeded to mime stroking a very large penis while throwing her head back to moan. Her hips started to buck. The real Hermione blushed redder. Perhaps she had slightly overestimated how playful she should have felt when the photograph was taken.

"I get the picture," Hermione said. A heat was moving down from her stomach to between her thighs. She pictured Harry lying there, stroking himself as he stared at her naked body. She gently pressed herself against the bedding, searching for friction. "Okay, you can go now." The Hermione in the photo pranced back to Harry's copy.

Alone in her bedroom, a dampness growing between her legs, Hermione stood up and crossed the room to her suitcase. She bent at the waist, another thrill for her imaginary voyeur at the window as she wiggled her bare bottom, and pulled out a photograph of her own. It was one of her most cherished. Standing in the snow outside the Shrieking Shack, Ron, Harry and herself beamed back at her. It had been taken by Colin Creevey and he had given each of the trio a copy of their own. They all looked so happy, no wars or threats to worry about. She took the photo back to her bed, dropping down onto it.

"Uh, sorry, Ron, but could you disappear for a while," she asked politely, staring at the photo. The redhead looked insulted and gestured at himself as if to say, 'who me?'. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Ron, if you don't get out of this photograph this instant, I'm blasting you from it."

Ron left soon after that.

"Now look," Hermione said, looking down at herself and Harry still smiling, now alone in the photo. "I'm hopelessly inexperience with this sort of stuff and I want to really blow Harry's socks off. So, uh, show me, stuff." She finished lamely, her face burning now and going bright red.

The photograph didn't care about her shame. Not that she expected them to. You couldn't make a person in a picture do something they didn't want to do in real life. However, Hermione had just proven that both were lovesick for each other. No sooner had she finished her sentence did the Hermione in the photo reach down and unzip Harry's pants with an unexpected deftness. He didn't stop her from tugging them and his underwear down, revealing his stiffening member. Both Hermiones' eyes went wide.

The Hermione in the photo reached down and wrapped her hand around Harry's cock, gliding it along the shaft, up and down. The real Hermione watched, enthralled, leaning closer to the picture. She tried to memorize the technique, the way her fingers gently teased the tip with each upward stroke. Whatever Photo Hermione was doing, Harry seemed to enjoy, his eyes closed, his teeth digging into his lower lip. Without thinking, the girl on the bed let her own hand dip down to between her legs, finding her soaked netherlips, teasing them gently with featherlight touches.

"Oh my," Hermione squeaked. She watched herself drop to her knees in the snow and lean forward, her lips parted. Harry's cock slid effortlessly into her mouth. She stared, panting, breasts heaving, as she watched herself suck on Harry's shaft, taking him deeper between her lips. Even with the burning pleasure between her thighs, Hermione was Hermione and she tried to study the technique. She put to memory the way her cheeks caved in as she sucked, the way her fingers gently teased Harry's testicles as her lips moved down the length of his cock.

Finally, Hermione's fingers found her clit. One touch, one brush, and her hips bucked and she clamped her eyes shut in pleasure. It was too good. Lying on her bed, curtain and windows still open for her imaginary voyeur, who by now had scruffy black hair and a lightening shape scar, she touched herself. Her fingers circled the nub between her netherlips, gently teasing it. Back arching, Hermione chewed down on her lip, trying to swallow back her moan, not wanting to wake her parents. It was no good. As she teased herself closer to orgasm, her ass off the bed as she thrust against her own fingers, breathless pants and moans escaped her mouth.

Opening her eyes, Hermione glanced at the photo and felt her body shiver. The photographic version of herself had shoved Harry onto a tree stump, his pants around his ankles. While she had been touching herself, eyes closed, Photo Hermione had ditched her panties, her skirt pushed up above her hips. She was sitting on Harry's lap, bouncing up and down as they kissed passionately, and Hermione could see her best friend's cock driving into her wetness. The cheeks of her round backside jiggled with each bounce.

"Harry!" she moaned into the night air as her own orgasm overtook her. Her legs began to shake and she fell back onto the bed with a thud, her whole-body convulsing. For the first time in her life, Hermione's brain stopped working. There was only the pleasure.

Not bothering to get out of bed, to put any sleepwear on, Hermione drifted off, completely content. She couldn't wait for her vacation to be over, to see Harry again. The photograph had fallen to the floor during the throes of her orgasm. Unaware to her, Harry had just bent her over the fence of the Shrieking Shack and began to take her from behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's trunk was packed and ready to go. He had thrown school books and clothes into it, the items almost overflowing as he added robes and Qudditch gear. His broomstick and Hedwig's empty cage rested next to it. Harry had let his owl fly ahead, and no doubt she was already at the Burrow, enjoying the comforts of the mice that ran around outside that wonderful house. Everything was ready for Harry's departure, just as Dumbledore had instructed. The Headmaster would be arriving shortly at Privet Drive. The only items Harry hadn't packed were his wand and his Invisibility Cloak, as suggested by Professor Dumbledore, and his photo album.

The latter was currently opened in front of Harry. He had turned to a photograph that Bill had taken at Grimmauld Place. The oldest of the Weasley boys had returned last Christmas with a wizard camera in hand. 'It comes in handy when you're cracking codes and curses,' he had explained one day over breakfast. Bill's plan was simple. While everyone worried about Mr. Weasley at Mungo's, Bill worried about everyone else's morale. He was just old enough to remember the last war and he explained to Harry and the others that what people needed most was to remember their friends and their family. So, throughout the Christmas period, he took as many photographs as possible and handed them out like candy.

Bill probably didn't expect for the photos to be used quite like how Harry had been, though. Sitting on the edge of his bed, pants around his ankles, Harry's hand moved up and down his throbbing cock as he watched the scene in front of him. It was in the kitchen of the old Black house. The actual photo had contained a roomful of smiles, various members of the Order and the Weasley clan grinning at the camera. Harry had managed to convince most of them to bugger off, though. Some he had to threaten with permanent disappearance, such as Molly and Mad-Eye Moody. Others, he gently hinted as to what his purpose was. The image of Sirius, who Harry still found hard to look at without remembering that moment by the Veil, merely nodded with a sly wink and a thrust of his hips. Eventually, the photo only contained the kitchen, the long wooden table, and Harry and Hermione.

The table turned out to be a useful presence for the couple in the picture. Hermione was currently bent over it, her naked breasts against the wood, as Harry took her from behind. The real Harry, cock in hand, eyes wide, was a relatively innocent boy, even if he did not currently look it. He only had the barest understanding of sex. Therefore, what Hermione and himself was doing in the photograph came as a considerable surprise to him. After taking him into her mouth, bobbing her mouth up and down as she stared at the real Harry through the photo, Hermione had stood up and bent over the table. Her hands reached behind her, found the round globes of her backside, and spread them apart. Within a second, the photo Harry stood behind her and eased his cock inside her. Except, he aimed higher than usual. The tip of his shaft pressed against his best friend's tightest hole, and Harry forgot to breathe as he watched himself slide his cock inside Hermione Granger's round ass.

Harry had never thought about anal sex before, but now confronted with the idea of fucking Hermione's bottom, it was all he could think of. His hand moved faster, imagining what it would feel like, trying to picture it for real as he watched the photograph in front of him. It looked so lewd, so obscene, and sexy the way his cock spread apart her thick, pale cheeks and pushed inside her tight opening. Even with such a view, Harry found his eyes wandering, instead locking onto Hermione's face. She looked divine. She was flushed with pleasure. Her eyes were wide and her teeth constantly dipped into her lip, biting down on the pinkness. Harry longed to make the real Hermione pull such faces.

In fact, it was becoming overwhelmingly obvious to Harry that he longed to make Hermione feel all sort of things: loved, desired, happiness. His chest felt several sizes too small for his heart. He marveled at how he never realized these things before. She was so smart and kind, always keeping an eye out for him. She was there for him, but she had her own life as well. She was perfect and, as Harry recently discovered, she was amazingly sexy as well.

With a grunt, he reached his limit and spilt himself into an old pair of underwear. The photo seemed unconcerned. Harry took Hermione's hips in his hand, thrusting harder, making her ass jiggle with each slap of his hips. The real Harry closed the album before he would be tempted to continue staring and renew his stroking. That was the only problem with his new form of entertainment. The photographs' sexual hunger far surpassed even his own. In fact, nearly every photo he had of Hermione was now in a permanent state of undress. They seemed unwilling to put their clothes back on and return to something approaching normal. For now, Harry didn't really see that as a problem, but he knew further down the line he'd have to find a way to fix it.

No sooner had he managed to pull his pants up, and wrap a belt around his waist, did all the lights in the street disappear. Harry rushed to the window and saw the familiar sight of a tall, wiry looking man with a long white beard strolling toward his house. A minute later, Harry had managed to heave his trunk to the top of the stairs, photo album safely packed inside, and bounded down the steps to open the door for his headmaster.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore beamed. "I'm so glad you seem to be keeping cheerful." Harry hadn't realized it, but he had been grinning non-stop for the past week. "I had worried that this summer would be a particularly hard one."

The Boy-Who-Lived barely managed to suppress his snort. That was one way of describing his summer.


	4. Chapter 4

As sunlight streamed through the gap between curtains, Hermione rolled over in the unfamiliar bed. It took her several minutes to remember where she was. She had been enjoying a particularly nice dream that involved a little cottage somewhere in the countryside, Harry, and a couple of kids that looked remarkably like her or Harry. Merlin, she really was lovesick. Then, Hermione remembered exactly where she was and what day it was. She was lying in the transfigured bed in Ginny's room at the Burrow, and Harry, if everything was okay, had arrived during the night. Hermione's felt her heart come to life, beating far faster than the early morning warranted.

Rolling over, Hermione saw Ginny was already climbing out of bed. Her pale legs stuck out of her nightie, long and slim. If it wasn't for the knowledge from the photographs, Hermione would have felt a pang of jealously. But she knew that Harry liked her, Hermione, and not Ginny. Meanwhile, last year she had spent the entire year counseling the Weasley girl to move on from the Boy who Lived. It hadn't been an entirely selfless exercise.

Ginny smiled at her as she wiggled on a pair of shorts, offering her a little more decency around the house full of boys. "You looked like you were having a nice dream. You were grinning all night."

Hermione let the comment go unanswered. She climbed out of bed, her night clothes of a long tee and a pair of red panties not appropriate wear outside of sleeping. She grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas bottoms and pulled them up over her round backside, before joining Ginny as they headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was still quiet. Ron was there, staring forlornly at an empty bowl, and Mrs Weasley was at the stove, stirring porridge, but the rest of the room was empty.

"Didn't Harry arrive?" Ginny asked and Hermione was glad she didn't have to ask the question. She was a confident, intelligent young woman now, but she felt if she had to say Harry's name she would break out into a hot flush.

"I let him sleep in," Ron answered. "He must have had a late night." Mrs Weasley agreed and asked if they wanted breakfast. Ginny nodded while her brother complained about how long it was taking.

"I might go and see if Harry's awake," Hermione said, trying to make it sound effortless. "No, Ron. You stay and have your breakfast. I'll bring him down if he's awake."

Before anyone could say otherwise, Hermione walked back up the stairs to the boys' room. Her hands were sweaty, her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she had a sick feeling inside her stomach. This was it. She was going to tell Harry about her feelings. She had spent nights wondering how to do it. Should she mention the photos? Should she wait till they were back at Hogwarts? Should she see if he made the first move? Hermione chose the most Hermione-like option though: upfront, no nonsense and efficient. She was going to tell him that she had feelings for him, that she felt he had feelings for her, and if they could make a go of it. She knocked softly at the bedroom door and walked inside.

"Hermione!" Harry grunted in surprise. He wiggled under the bed covers and something dropped to the floor. "I didn't know you were here yet!"

He looked so cute, panicked and red-faced, but Hermione's eyes were directed at the object on the floor. It was his photo album. A warmth flooded her stomach. Her skin tingled, nowhere more than between her legs. Had he just been looking at her? She took a step forward to pick the album up.

With all the reflexes of a Seeker, Harry was out of his bed and grabbing the album from the floor. He stood in front of her, topless, his toned torso on display. The warmth between her legs only grew at the sight. His pajamas trousers hung low on his hips, revealing a toned v and a hint of hair above his groin. She chewed on her lip. Did he have to look like an accidental sex god. "I've got it," he exclaimed, almost fear in his voice. "Was just, uh, thinking about friends. You know? Like Bill said."

Hermione stared at him, her own face growing pinker, as she reached for the wand tucked inside the waistband of her pajamas. "Accio photo album," she said clearly and before Harry could react, the book flew into her free hand. She opened it immediately.

A succession of photos greeted her. With each turn of the page, her face grew redder, her eyes wider and her jaw fell another inch. Nearly every photo of her inside the album was naked. There was her on the beach, wiggling her bottom. Her at Hogsmeade, looking at the camera as she played with her breasts. Her in the common room at Hogwarts, lying back on the armchair, legs in the chair as she teased her clit. Harry had seen all this! The photos kept coming. Her and Harry together, alone in front of the camera, standing in various settings. Harry taking her from behind in a kitchen. Her riding him on the table in the Great Hall. On the Quidditch Field, she kneel in front of him and worked her mouth up and down his thickness. Hermione could feel the wetness between her thighs now, the burning heat out of control as she stared hungrily at the images.

"I am so sorry, Hermione. Please don't hate me. I didn't mean, shit, fuck, I'm so sorry," Harry was blabbering.

Any idea of talking to her best friend had vanished in the arousal that shot out through her body. She no longer wanted to confess her feelings. She just wanted to act on them. "Oh shut up," she said and marched over to the panicked boy and kissed him hard on the mouth.

There were several seconds of one sided-ness. Where she kissed him, her lips sucking lightly on Harry's, who stood as still as a board. Even now, even with all the evidence in front of her, Hermione felt her stomach drop. What if he didn't like her in person? Maybe she was just a naughty image to masturbate to? Then there was a hand on her ass, squeezing the cheek, and Harry was kissing her back hungrily, his mouth battling for dominance. Hermione stopped worrying then.

One hand was joined by two and Harry began to squeeze and grope her backside as they kissed in the middle of Ron's bedroom. He pushed her body tight against him and Hermione moaned into his lips. She could feel him. His hard cock was pressing against her stomach, only several pieces of thin fabrics separating them. If she hadn't been longing for this moment for months, if she hadn't seen the photographs, she would have ignored it. It was a first kiss! To soon for such things! But Hermione was too turned on. Savoring the surprised groan that escaped Harry's lips, Hermione slipped her hand down the waistband of his trousers and wrapped her fingers around his throbbing shaft.

It was the warmth that surprised her. She expected him to be hard, to throb against her palm, but she hadn't expected the heat from his member. Photos couldn't teach her that. As Harry slipped his tongue into her mouth, she began to slide her hand up and down the length of his shaft, working his cock like she had seen herself do in photos. Harry moaned into her mouth and she knew she was making a good first impression.

Concentrating so much on the jerking motion of her hand, it took Hermione a second to realize a hand was slipping inside her pajamas bottoms and panties. Harry's fingers slid down the bare cheek of her bottom. Her brain lit up with pleasure and amazement. Harry was touching her naked ass and it felt amazing, her skin tingling as he squeezed her firm, round cheek. She moaned between kisses, increasing the speed of her hand to let him know she liked it. It must have emboldened the boy, because soon his other hand was moving up under her shirt and squeezing at her braless breasts.

Hermione struggled to understand how this felt so much better than her own hands touching her. It didn't make any sense, but it was true. Never before had she felt so good as Harry groped her, his lips moving down to kiss along her neck. "Oh Harry" she panted, taking a moment to catch her breast from their kissing.

Then she moaned his name, not a pant, but a throaty sound that echoed through the empty bedroom. Harry's hand had slid around from her bottom to the spot between her legs, his fingertips sliding between her soaked netherlips. She directed him higher, forgetting to move her hand, merely holding his shaft as she waited, breath caught in her throat, for Harry to find that little nub which would turn her legs to jelly. Several seconds later, he found it. She wrapped her free arm around his body to hold herself steady as he began to tease her clit.

Somehow, it became a race then to make the other explode first: Hermione jerking his cock and Harry gently rubbing her clit. They kissed and stared into each others eyes, but mostly they bit down on their lips and tried to stop the pleasure boiling over. Hermione won. She knew she would. Harry's hips started to buck as she stroked him and her hand moved quicker, sliding up and down as he groaned her name over and over. Then it happened. She felt him throb against her palms and a warm stickiness exploded over her fingers. Looking down, Hermione's licked her lips at the obvious wet patch in Harry's pajamas.

She couldn't savor her victory for long though. Harry never slowed, even through his orgasm, and soon his fingers were sending her over the edge. Her legs shaked and her head rolled back as she crashed against a wave of pleasure, her thighs clamping down around his hand as she shivered in pleasure. It had never felt this good by herself.

They stood there together for a moment, too drained to say anything, needing to lean against the other to keep themselves upright. Hermione let her messy hand slip back out of Harry's pants and Harry did the same. Her legs were still shaking. She kissed him hard on the mouth.

"Wow," Harry said and she repeated him. It was the only word for it. "Umm, where did that come from?"

"Let's just say I feel the same about you that I think you feel the same about me," Hermione said. Her face was red, but it was nothing to do with embarrassment. It was because she was a panting mess.

Harry stared at her, with that dorky, handsome face. His eyes were wide and he opened his mouth several times to speak before finally settling on. "Oh. Good."

"So articulate," Hermione giggled, reaching for her wand. With a muttered spell, the mess of their activities disappeared. "Come on, we can talk about this later. But if we don't get to breakfast soon, Mrs Weasley will send out a search party."


	5. Chapter 5

To put it lightly, Harry was floating on cloud nine. For the entire day, he had forgotten about Voldemort and the war, about Sirius's death, and the fear that coiled around his stomach. Instead, his thoughts were filled of Hermione. As Mrs. Weasley discussed safety measures, Harry thought about how it felt to kiss her. When Tonks arrived to say hello, Harry was remembering the way it felt to squeeze her round backside. During dinner, conversation flowing, he was glad the tablecloth covered the erection that had grown as he thought back to Hermione's hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him to the point of no return.

It was, perhaps, the first worry-free day Harry Potter had ever experienced.

The only problem with it was the impossibility of spending any time alone with Hermione. While he cherished his friendship with Ron, Harry found himself wishing that his best friend of six years would bugger off. When Ron would finally disappear, he was only replaced by Ginny who wanted to ask about his summer, or Mrs. Weasley to see if he had been eating, or the twins who were eager to take him to their joke shop. By dinner, he was cursing the Weasley clan who he saw as the closest thing he had for a family.

A silver lining of this though was that Harry got the impression Hermione shared his frustration. She kept shooting people dirty looks when she thought no one was staring at her. The truth was that Harry had hardly taken his eyes off her the entire day. He tried to understand how so much had changed in a couple of months. The last time he saw her, Harry only saw his friend. Hermione was pretty, sure, but she was just Hermione. Now, he saw a beautiful woman. Her brown hair, once bushy, now looked wavy and framed her cute, adorable face. Her body curved in a way he never noticed before. She caught him staring at her several times and she blushed and smirked at the same time, confident and shy, a contradiction that drove him wild.

As everyone stood up for dinner and moved toward the living room, to enjoy each other's company in a crazy, unstable world, Hermione grabbed his wrist. The touch was electric and she smiled at me. "Tonight, once everyone's asleep, come down here."

The evening was painfully long. Harry could barely handle it. He stared at his watch, wondering if he could remember a spell for speeding up time. If there had been one, he obviously hadn't been paying attention. Soon, everyone was heading to bed. Harry and Ron went back to his room and pulled on their pajamas. A minute later, the latter was passed out on his bed, snoring. Harry had always marveled at Ron's ability to sleep and tonight, he was grateful. One person down, a house to go. He laid in bed, chewing his lip, resisting the temptation to resort to looking through his photo album.

When his watch said midnight, Harry eased himself out of bed and padded softly down the stairs. They creaked, of course they creaked, the sound screaming through the house, but no one came to investigate. Instead, he made it down to the living room and his breath caught in his throat. Hermione was sitting there on the sofa, framed by the light from the fireplace. Her legs, tanned from the French sun, were tucked under her bottom as she read a book. She seemed to only be wearing a long tee, and he could see most of her thighs, the sight causing his blood to reroute itself south.

"Hi," he said. He wanted to roll his eyes. Hi. Was that the best greeting he had?

Hermione jumped, which revealed more of her legs, and Harry recalibrated his opinion of his greeting. Then she put the book down and patted the spot next to her on the sofa. "Hi yourself," she smiled.

Sitting down next to her, being able to smell the shampoo she used, sent a wave of memories of the morning back to him. He swallowed thickly. "I've been wanting to, uh, just be us, all day."

"Me too," Hermione said, and then she did something that made Harry feel as if he could take on the world. She cuddled into his side, putting her head on his shoulder. It felt so right. "I know we need to talk but I don't to ruin it by saying the wrong things."

"A better left unsaid situation?" Harry moved his arm to wrap around Hermione and grinned when she didn't object.

"Mmm," she purred in agreement and they stayed like that by the fireplace for several minutes in total silence. Harry wondered how his life could change so much in a single day. Maybe Dumbledore was onto something with his power of love. "But we do need to talk," Hermione eventually said. "I don't want there to be any misunderstandings. I need to know this is real."

So they talked. Harry wasn't sure for how long, but it was like a dam broke for both of them. Feelings poured free. On that sofa, they told each other about how much they cared for the other. Hermione explained that she always felt there was something bubbling inside her, that she always felt something for him but it took time for her to realize what it was. Harry was honest. He wasn't sure where his feelings had come from, but once they were unleashed, they overcame him. Both of them headed dangerously close to the love word, as only friends come lovers could do so quickly, but they steered away from it. Harry didn't want to go too far and ruin the night.

They kissed then. It was nothing like the morning had been, all hunger and urgency. This was a slow kiss, one of quiet passion. Their arms wrapped around the other's body and their lips pressed together. It felt just as good. Harry kept catching Hermione's lower lip, gently sucking on it, drawing out soft moans from his friend. Or maybe his girlfriend now, he realized with a grin. By the time they pulled apart, his watch told him it was an hour and a half since he had first come downstairs.

"I guess we should sleep," Harry finally said. He didn't want to cause too much suspicion for both of them being exhausted the next day.

Hermione didn't reply though. She was staring openly, eyes wide, at his lap. Harry looked down and blushed. There was a large tent in his pajamas pants, jutting lewdly up to the ceiling. He cursed his body. "Shit, I'm sorry, Hermione. It's just, oh, it's hard not to react when you kiss me like that."

He expected her to say something, like that it wasn't problem or that she understood. What Harry didn't imagine was that she would ease herself off the sofa. She grabbed a cushion from it and placed it between his legs, using it to kneel on as she sat in front of him. Her eyes were round and there was a small smile on her lips. "I can't send you to bed like this. Especially since it was my fault."

Harry wanted to tell her to stop, to be chivalrous and tell her not to worry about it. That's what his heart and brain said. His groin yelled very loudly and angrily at them to shut up, and they did. He stayed silent as his best friend, his girlfriend, reached up and gently pulled his pants down to his knees, freeing his cock from its prison. There was something so erotic in the way that Hermione looked at him. It was almost methodical, like this was a book to learn something from. She leaned in closer, her breath tickling his shaft, her eyes running down the veins, taking everything in. Harry went to say something but the words died in his throat as her lips pressed against his skin.

She kissed his cock, starting from the base and moving up to the tip. Harry groaned with every touch and his shaft throbbed in anticipation. Hermione's tongue slipped from between her lips, gently running along the underside and he thought that nothing could ever feel so good. By the time the girl between his knees closed her lips around the tip, taking him into her warm, wet mouth, Harry thought he had died. This had to be heaven. Hermione Granger was kneeling in front of him, sucking his cock.

He did his best to swallow back his moans, not wanting to wake the rest of his house, but quiet grunts escaped regardless. It was impossible not to. With her hands on his thigh, Hermione worked her mouth up and down, sliding her lips down his shaft. It looked just like it had done in the photographs, but it felt a million times better than he had imagined. His hands moved to her hair, wrapping themselves lightly in the strands, desperately resisting the urge to thrust upward. Slurping quietly, Hermione's cheeks caved in as she applied pressure, sucking gently. It was too much for Harry.

"Hermione, I'm gonna, fuck," Harry moaned trying to warn her.

She looked at him with wide eyes, but instead of pulling away, she moved her mouth deeper down on his cock. Harry exploded, pumping stream after stream of his seed onto her tongue and both of them moaned. Without thinking, Harry's hands kept Hermione's head steady, holding her still as he emptied himself inside her mouth. He could die happy now.

A moment later, Hermione pulled away, his cock flopping free of her lips. Harry could see her swallowing and panicked somewhat at the look that passed across Hermione's face, as if she had just licked a lemon.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione panted, recovering her breathing. "That was amazing. But I think I need to brush my teeth again."


End file.
